The Lyrical Genius of Justin Timberlake
by Kavi Leighanna
Summary: A glimpse of pink turns Hotch's entire understanding of his subordinate on it's head. HP Smut-ish-ness


_**I have no idea where this came from. I'd originally wanted to write about a pink mug, but this was so much more fun. Let me know what you think!  
**_

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Aaron Hotchner liked to say he knew Emily Prentiss.

He knew her on a work level. She was strong, she was smart and she was damned good at her job. Even when he virtually ignored her and anything she could be for the unit, she'd held on and proven herself more than worthy of the spot she'd been given. She fit and she did so almost better than Elle had. She hadn't given Reid an inch since starting in the unit, had taken none of Morgan's bull and played his flirting game with him as well as he did. He was JJ and Garcia's go-to girl for almost anything.

He'd come to rely on the stoicism, on that strength, especially when things between them started to change. Not in a romantic sense, that would come along later, but in a platonic sense. Much to his surprise, it had been her he had turned to following his divorce, following the explosion and the rocky aftermaths of both. She'd been there, on the phone, in person, in text, to do whatever she could to reassure him. But even then, she'd kept a lot of personal things hidden.

Which, at the time, was perfectly fine by him.

Then things had shifted again. It had been so long ago now and so seamless that he couldn't remember who had started it per se. He couldn't remember who had initiated the first kiss, when dinners became dates instead of time for him to confide in her and he really couldn't remember which one of them had been the first to be at the other's for a prolonged period of time. It had been such an easy transition that he couldn't even remember when the intensified feelings had started.

So he'd started to learn personal things about her. She hated whole-wheat bread and drank tea first thing in the morning. According to her, coffee was reserved for the office. She didn't need to be hyped up on caffeine before she even made it in. She was sensible in every meaning of the word. Her decor was simple and functional, nothing particularly lacy or frilly or attention-grabbing. A couple of flowers here and there, but with the cases they travelled, he knew she thought living plants were an inconvenience.

Her sensibility went right down to her wardrobe. There had been many a-night he'd stripped her down from her work clothes, her casual clothes, her relaxing clothes, her pyjamas, and found functional cotton underwear. Emily, he knew, had been trained that way. There was no use for massive splashes of colour in the professional world and she'd probably lived by that mantra, at least until she'd met Garcia. Still, old habits did truly die hard and so serviceable and sensible were the only undergarments he ever saw.

Not that he was particularly complaining. Most of the time he didn't stop to admire such things anyway. He was way too preoccupied with going beyond what they were hiding to the sensitive skin underneath. He got more of a response out of her that way.

Which made the little flash of pink when she'd been sitting back in her chair, buttons done up one too short all the more intriguing. What on earth was bright pink doing hugging those curves he knew all too well?

It had been a question that plagued him for his entire day at the office. He wasn't sure he could remember a time when he'd gotten so little done in a day, but she'd managed to make him do it. He was too focused on that pink, on what that pink could mean and whether or not he'd even seen it in the first place. Had his mind been playing tricks on him and she hadn't actually been wearing such an un-Emily colour at all?

She left before him that night, popping in to drop off a couple of folders that needed final approval. He'd caught that glimpse again and _knew_. He'd definitely seen it that time. Emily was wearing pink underwear. Or at the very least, a pink bra.

Never let it be said the woman didn't keep him guessing.

It took him another three hours before he gave up on the workload. He didn't bother to call her before heading to her apartment. If he called, she'd have a chance to talk him out of coming, not that she'd ever done that before. Still, there was more to the surprise. And what was he supposed to say to her on the phone anyway?

_I saw that pink bra and all I could think about was pinning you to your desk and getting a closer look?_

Actually, that didn't sound all that bad.

He managed to make it to her complex in one piece and up the stairs to her door. He was impatient as he knocked on the door and was unsurprised to find her in a black t-shirt that clung to her in all the right places and yoga pants. Typical Emily loungewear. At least on the outside.

"Aaron, what are you- Hey!"

The door had barely closed behind him before he'd literally whipped the t-shirt off of her body. He held it in one hand, his other limp at his side as he took her in. She was most definitely wearing a pink lace bra.

And he was definitely about to lose his mind.

The Emily he thought he knew didn't go for lingerie. There was no point, she'd explained, in spending an exorbitant amount of money on something that won't stay on long enough for the man to admire it. But it looked like she didn't count that as a tried and true rule. Here she was, in bright pink and shaking.

He realized he hadn't said anything since almost barging through the door and so his free hand came up to splay over her naked back. His other hand dropped the t-shirt to the floor, fingers coming up to trace the edges of the cups, following the pattern of the lace on her skin. "It's pink."

"It is," she murmured, her eyes sliding closed.

He smiled, knowing how much she enjoyed touch. It was one of those personal things he'd discovered about her through the growth of their relationship. Emily Prentiss loved to be touched. He was always willing to indulge her. Still, he had other goals too, this time. "Why?"

"Why what?" she asked absently.

So he stopped touching her, well aware that he was distracting her with the soft brush of his fingertips. "Why pink?"

"Why not?" she replied in confusion, her eyes opening, hands coming up to make quick work of his jacket and suit jacket, leaving both on the floor. "And does it matter right now?"

"I want to know-" She'd cut him off with a fierce kiss, continuing it until his dress shirt was hanging open by his shoulders.

Now that he thought about it, it really wasn't important right now. He stepped towards her, forcing her to step back, continuing the process until she was pressed against her counter. Her pants went next, a quick removal of material and he groaned when he found lacy boyshorts that matched her bra. The colour against her skin made him harder. He wanted access to the skin beneath, but he knew how rare it was to see her in such racy underwear and such colourful underwear that he wanted to leave it on as much as possible.

It was almost like a challenge, one he was more than up to.

Literally and figuratively speaking.

He kicked off his shoes and socks while Emily nibbled at his neck and dealt with his belt and shirt. Then it was his turn and where she was fierce and passionate, he fully intended to take his time. So he slowed their kisses down, decreasing desperation at the same time he increased the sensuality of the act. His hands trailed slow paths up and down her sides, skipping in to her inner thighs before retreating again. He hoisted her onto the counter, one hand under her ass to hold her weight until he could deposit her on the clean, white surface.

"Aaron," she breathed, trying to get him where she wanted him. He knew the signs all too well, the slight buck of her hips when his fingers started drawing pointless patterns on her thighs, the desperation of her hands clasped around his neck trying to push him further than her neck.

"You look fantastic in pink," he whispered against her skin. "So hot."

His smile was predatory as he made contact with her center through the pink lace. Those would have to go, eventually, but the bra could probably stay. It was probably the one and only time he wouldn't mind her breasts clothed while they made love. Her head was thrown back, her breath short, and he attacked her throat and collarbone with his lips while his hands stroked, rubbed and circled. Her sounds drove him, told him when to move his fingers faster, when to delve inside to find her bare, wet flesh. His thumb had barely brushed her clit when her breath hitched and she was gone.

He finally attached his mouth to her breasts as she came down, licking, sucking and biting through pink lace. The fabric was warm since she'd been wearing it all day and now wet from his mouth as he pulled away. His hands came up to play instead seconds after he roughly stripped her panties from her body. She managed to unbuckle his pants and shove them and his underwear to the floor where he stepped out of them easily.

He hadn't even noticed she'd pulled the condom from his pocket until she was rolling it down his length, making sure to give it a few thorough strokes first. As if he wasn't hard enough. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her to him, both of them working together to slide her onto his erection. His mouth went to her breasts again while her hands threaded through his hair. They were quick to find their rhythm, not that it was a surprise for either of them. They'd been doing this long enough, knew each other well enough to know exactly how to move.

She went over first, the extra friction from the lace of her bra coiling that ball even faster and tighter. She cried out, squeezing him inside her. He watched the rapture float across her face and it trigged his own release. His arms wrapped around her body, pulling her tightly to him, holding her there.

Eventually, when he was sure his feet could move without sending them both tumbling to the floor, he moved them to the couch, settling back against one arm, Emily still cradled to his chest. He traced the pink on her back with one hand while the other stroked her bare back. "Want to tell me about the pink?"

She raised her head with a sigh. "Not really."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You know how I went shopping with Pen and JJ two weekends ago?"

Of course he did. They'd been late for their reservations because she'd jumped him the minute she walked through the door. She'd chalked it up to spending the day talking about him. "Okay..."

"Well, Pen and JJ were..."

"Lingerie shopping," he supplied. He found it adorable how she could say some of the dirtiest things in the throes of passion, but the moment her head was unclouded by desire, she clammed up.

"And Pen pulled this off the rack. Asked if you'd enjoy it."

"I did," he said salaciously, his hand brushing over the fabric at the back again.

She laughed slightly. "Apparently."

"That's it? Okay then, why today?"

She blushed and mumbled something he couldn't decipher.

"I'm sorry?"

"Justin Timberlake was on my alarm this morning," she admitted, only slightly louder. "You know, the song Derek loves and Reid hates?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning when she sighed but indulged him.

"I'm bringing sexy back..."


End file.
